Gretel was a little surprised to hear this, for on the one or two occasions when she had gone to tea at Fräulein’s aunt’s, that lady—a stout German with a dull, placid expression, had not appeared to take any particular notice of her. Indeed, Fräulein had once confided in German that her aunt was “Good, but dull.”
“They must care a great deal more about each other than they used to,” she reflected, as she stood for a moment on the steps, watching her friend pass out of sight. “I suppose the war has drawn them together. It must be very hard for Germans in this country, and I do feel sorry for them, but I can’t help wishing Fräulein hadn’t urged me so much to come to tea.”
Mr. Douaine was leaning back in an armchair, comfortably sipping his second glass of iced tea, when Gretel returned. He certainly did look tired and a little troubled as well.
“Come and sit down, little girl,” he said, kindly. “I am glad that friend of yours is afraid of thunder-storms. I want you to myself for a little while.”
“She—she is very pleasant, don’t you think so?” faltered loyal Gretel, as she took the seat by her brother’s side.
“I have no doubt she can be very pleasant when she feels inclined,” Mr. Douaine answered, smiling. “She is a trifle too German to suit my taste, but that isn’t her fault. I don’t think she took to me any more than I took to her.”
“She did seem rather stiff,” Gretel admitted. “Perhaps the thunder in the air made her nervous. She was awfully good to me at school, and I really am fond of her.”
“Certainly you are fond of her, and there is no reason why you should not be. I dare say she is all right, but—well, the fact is, I am afraid I am prejudiced. One hears such dreadful things about the Germans in these days.”
“Percy,” said Gretel, with a catch in her voice, “if Father were alive, do you believe he would approve of the things the Germans have done?”
“No, Gretel, I do not,” her brother answered, decidedly. “Your father was one of the best men I have ever known in my life.”